


ginger tea

by boonki



Series: Boonki's obikin oneshots and drabbles [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin is sick, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character, Sickfic, That's it, obi-wan takes care of him, purely self-indulgent fluff because i have the flu, that's the entire thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28891671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonki/pseuds/boonki
Summary: Anakin is a little sick, Obi-wan takes care of him. It's tender.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Boonki's obikin oneshots and drabbles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2201706
Comments: 22
Kudos: 98





	ginger tea

**Author's Note:**

> *throws this in your general direction* have some fluff

Obi-wan holds a hand to Anakin’s forehead. It’s hot. 

“My head hurts.” Anakin whines in his bed beneath Obi-wan, and it’s that, more than the fever, that concerns him. For all their bravado and battles, they do  _ not  _ admit when something hurts. Ever. It drives Obi-wan crazy how many times he’s had to practically cuff the man and drag him into medbay for treatment, and he knows Anakin feels the same way, for whatever reason. Obi-wan’s injuries are mostly just scratches and bruises, but he puts up with the medics for Anakin’s sake. 

They’re in their shared quarters at the temple, a rare break from gallivanting around space in warships, sleeping in their own beds for once. The council has them grounded for just a week, which is both too short and too long to be away from the madness. 

“You’re running a fever, dear one.” Obi-wan makes to move his hand away, but Anakin’s fingers dart out, holding him in place, or rather, just holding him. He shakes them away, and Anakin makes a small noise in the back of his throat, so childlike and vulnerable. Obi-wan’s heart clenches. 

“M’thirsty…” Anakin opens and closes his mouth a few times, eyes shut against the light. Without Obi-wan’s hands on his forehead, he shifts onto his side away from Obi-wan and holds his face in his hands, curled up on himself. 

Obi-wan is torn between wanting to make himself at home on the edge of the bed, to run his fingers through Anakin’s curls and comfort him through his illness, and wanting to go make some ginger tea and fetch some crackers for him, which would unfortunately mean leaving him alone for a moment. 

Practicality wins out, in the end, and Obi-wan silently slips out of Anakin’s room and into the kitchens, turning the stove on before finding a clean mug and a tea bag. He knows they have crackers….somewhere. It’s been a while since he’s had to eat in their quarters, let alone take care of someone with the flu. He knows he could take Anakin down to see the medics, but he is a selfish old man, and there is something so heartwarming about taking care of the man he loves. He doesn’t tell Anakin he loves him often enough, so these opportunities to wipe his forehead clean of sweat, to help him blow on the tea before taking a sip, to rub circles onto his back and temples to help with the headache are all moments of promise for Obi-wan. He hopes Anakin will know what he’s trying to say. 

The kettle whistles, a clean, sharp sound in their otherwise quiet apartment. The water is still boiling when Obi-wan pours it into the mug, watching the liquid turn a deep amber color. He carries it gently back to Anakin’s resting form, nudging him on the shoulder with his free hand. 

“Something to drink, darling.” When Anakin rolls over to face him, Obi-wan blows air on the top layer of the water, cooling it a little bit so Anakin doesn’t burn himself, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

Anakin scoots up in bed so he’s sitting upright, facing Obi-wan, and gingerly grabs the mug from him. The man looks so disgruntled, his bed-head curls sticking to one side of his head, his cheeks tinged pink from the fever, fingers just poking out from underneath his sleep shirt. Obi-wan tries to hide the delicate smile that sneaks its way onto his face at the sight. Tries, and fails.

“What?” Anakin asks, his voice hoarse and annoyed. 

Obi-wan snorts, and then softens. “Thank you for letting me take care of you.” 

Anakin looks at him like he’s the one with a mind-addling fever. “Uh, sure.” He takes a few more sips of tea, then hands the mug back to Obi-wan. 

When Anakin nestles himself back into bed, facedown, Obi-wan bends down to place the mug on the floor, reaching back up to worm a hand under Anakin’s shirt to scratch his back like some sort of loth-cat. Obi-wan had honestly laughed when he first found out Anakin liked this, but now he is just glad Anakin trusts him to be vulnerable enough to admit it. His fingertips rake over bare skin, over curved muscle, the dip of his lower back, the valley between his shoulder blades, up into the base of his neck. Anakin hums briefly, a happy noise. 

This is not how Obi-wan thought he would be spending his break with Anakin, if he were being honest. He had imagined more Dex’s, more time in the temple gardens, more time in bed with Anakin in a more exciting way, but… this is good too, Obi-wan thinks. His love for Anakin is not confined to only the good times, but to headaches and fevers and grumpy attitudes as well. 

He slides his hand out from underneath Anakin’s shirt and pets the back of his head, smoothing the curls down. “Sleep, love.” 


End file.
